Forward Unto Oblivion
by Lord Jaroslav
Summary: A single man could change the world. What could a single man and his bear companion do? Probably kill a few more people, and try to save even more. Some will live, some will die. Turns out, GRRM had some pretty good ideas.
1. Chapter 1

**House Stilwood**

 **Words - Forward Into Oblivion**

 **Sigil - Ebonywood Tree, between two bear paw prints. on a gray background.**

 **I have taken some liberties with travel time and army sizes. These may change in the future, because big battles are pretty awesome. If I do change it, the readers will be told before hand.**

 **A number of OC's litter this story, it's fine if you don't like those. Read it anyway, write a review and tell me how to improve.**

 **This story is a result of my wife and I's combined thoughts and wants to make the story a little different while having some events not truly change.**

 **Sidenote: I am aware that there is a Stilwood (Joss Stilwood) already in the story, this was after I thought of the name. So it may be a plot point later on, or it won't. Who knows.**

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They gathered their sworn Lords when the Young Wolf decided to play at war. Aye he would have gone to King's Landing himself to save Lord Stark, after spending 5 years as their ward he had grown to love the man.

It was not to be however, the Squids had thought to raid his and his brother's lands while the North marched South. An island surrounded by Ironborn was hard to defend, but they had been killing them for centuries. They knew their tactics well. A small group of crannogmen were loyal to House Stilwood, helping them in ways of fighting the ironborn off at every step and turn. Truly there were several ways onto the island without sinking in the murky swamplands. There were the three towns Stilwater Island which were Ebony Town, Stilwood Barrow, and Claw Point. All were constructed using the Ebonywood trees that were plentiful on the island. The three keeps on the island were Stilwater Keep, lorded by House Stilwood. Ragged Cove, lorded by Jade Mormont, sister of Jeor Mormont. Her only daughter Alara, wife to Lord Geron Stilwood and mother to Creighton and Criston Stilwood. Roren Glover, a small Cadet Branch of House Glover of Deepwood Motte. Lords over the currently unnamed Keep protecting the central hub of Ebonywood harvesting on the entire island. Both Lord and Lady sworn to House Stilwood.

1300 Ironborn decided to die upon the shores of Stilwood Hall that night, half that his brother's men. Yet their island was large, very large. They could field many men, a third of which were horsed. 4800 soldiers could turn the tide in any battle. That was the most he could take while not leaving the island unguarded. Though the few that remained could hold off a siege for years. His brother after being wounded had told him pledge our Banners to the new King in the North. His first stop was to retake Moat Cailin, to regain back the Young Wolf's honor in trusting a fucking squid.

This was to be his first time commanding such a large amount of men. He was used to giving orders among the battlements while his brother charged through the gate, but this was an army. This was a war, and his brother was to craven to go himself. He could see it in his eyes when he spoke the words.

"Criston, you are to go to the Young Wolf. Pledge yourself to him and make a name for yourself. While I am alive you will inherit nothing, so instead of fighting the squids. Go fight a real army. Prove yourself a man." The words had angered Criston, but he could only nod grimly.

It was his Lord's command, though a brother shouldn't march his only sibling to his death. Criston's grandmother, Lady Jade Mormont had slapped his brother, knocking him to the ground when Creighton told her of his plans.

He would take Moat Cailin from the small Ironborn force stationed there. Leave men to hold it and march to the Twins to join the wedding of Edmure Tully to Roslin Frey. House Stilwood had stayed out of the fighting this long, it was time for them to go to war. He had never met any sort of king before, but a Stark King. He could get used to that.

Though something deep down inside of him feared going to this wedding. He may be young, and no matter to where this war went. He would do his duty. To his family and to avenge Eddard Stark.

It had taken just 6 days to reach the Fever River just 8 miles west of Moat Cailin. Criston had taken it upon himself to use the longships from the Stilwater invasion to bolster his own fleet. Thus when he approached the dozen Ironborn longships they had let down their guard. It was a small battle. There were only enough there to barely guard each ship, and prepare it for a fast getaway if need be.

The soldiers under him respected him, they thirsted for war. They thirsted to avenge the murder of their Liege Lord. A few, including Criston himself, wanted to see how his closest companion would fare in an actual battle, not some lowly raiders.

Winter, his most trusted friend. She thought the same of him, when he slipped into her skin. She was the progeny of a snow bear and a common Mormont Island Grizzly. She was large, very much so. It had taken a ridiculous amount of time for Darrick, the Stilwood Hall blacksmith to create armor for her to wear. Studded leather covered the majority of her body and she had taken to it as a second skin. They were a pair, though many were intimidated, she would not harm a soul unless he said so.

He remembered the times before when his brother had teased him about bedding the bear, since he thought it was the only way to tame one. Creighton also claimed to have bedded their cousin Dacey, oddly enough his brother had come home with only half an ear. Dacey of course only grinned when Criston brought it up.

He had been blooded in the Ironborn invasion and the men respected that, _his_ men. They had very terse words for his brother. The few knights in their service had demanded to leave when the Young Wolf first called to arms, yet Creighton had stayed their blades until Lord Stark was already dead. It took the Ironborn taking Moat Cailin and other northern Keeps for him to finally send soldiers out.

It angered Criston but he was a second son. Perhaps that was why he looked up to Eddard Stark as he did. He wondered how Lord Stark would look upon him now, marching to war to help the man he thought of as a brother. Not the one he was given, but the one he chose.

It had taken just half a day to march to Moat Cailin, the black Ebonytree on a silver background with two snarling bear heads was his personal sigil. He would have had more of them made but his brother had forbade it. Damn that pride of his. He smiled softly to himself as he saw the black lizard lion of House Reed, they had already made the camp a mile from the fort itself. He remembered meeting Lord Howland Reed for the first time when he had visited Winterfell, he was small man, but he was a man who knew his duty. He had respect for the man, his first words to him were few but Howland Reed was a man of few words.

He had been a solemn child, known for bouts of melancholy. His time playing with Meera Reed had helped him some, yet he was as solemn as a Stark. Ser Rodrik would make sure to tell him that often enough.

He had gathered his host and dispersed them to create camps and settle for the night. He was lucky enough to only have injured men from the brief battle, but that would be the last time.

He spotted Lord Reed with several of his loyal retainers, he spied the sigils of Houses Boggs, Greengoods, Crays, and Marshes. They seemed to not be led by their Lords, not that Criston could recall their names anyway. As the only three lords Criston, Lord Roren Glover and Lord Howland Reed commanded from inside of one of the larger tent.

Lord Reed was already waiting inside, with a map of troop movements and of the surrounding area.

A smile grew on Criston's face. "I am glad to see you hale, Lord Reed."

Howland looked up and met his gaze. "Lord Stilwood, I am glad you have finally joined us." He did not say it in an angry way, yet the accusation was there.

Criston's eyes turned to steel in that moment, "I am not the Lord of my house. If it were up to me, I would have marched unto King's Landing and taken the head of that Bastard King. We were beset upon by a large force of Ironborn, yet my brother did not heed the call. I did." His voice was deeper than Howland remembered, with the steel of a northern lord. Despite the harsh words Howland smiled.

"Yes you did. Forgive me words, Criston. I had to make sure you have grown from the shy boy hiding behind my daughter's skirt. You are certainly your father's son and the pride of your mother's house." He clasped Criston at the shoulder and give him a hug.

Criston had a small smile on his face, "I should have known," Roren gave a slight cough to remind them of him still being here. "Lord Reed, this is Roren Glover. Protector of Ebonywood and smiter of krakens."

"Funny Criston, Lord Reed it is an honor." Roren held out his gloved hand and Howland took it.

"A pleasure, my lord," He paused for a moment and a grave look came upon his face.

"Shall we begin?

The next morning Lord Reed had received two ravens, one from Deepwood Motte and Winterfell. He could Criston and Roren together for a meeting before the battle begun. When they entered Lord Reed had a grim look.

"What has happened?" Criston asked, adjusted the mail shirt he was wearing and straightened himself at the tone of his words.

"Deepwood Motte has fallen to Asha Greyjoy, Robette's wife and children have been taken hostage. The maester had given his life to allow the guard time to send the raven off safely." Ignoring Roren's gasp and curses he opened the other note. His hand began to shake.

"Winterfell has fallen to Theon Greyjoy." Criston's eyes grew wide and he slammed his fist unto the table.

"Any word of the boys? Of Meera and Jojen!" He almost screamed at the man.

"Meera and Jojen are missing, Rickon and Brandon have been killed. Burned until black. It appears Maester Luwin had managed to send this off as well… Ser Rodrik beheaded. Grim news."

"Dark wings, dark words." Criston said quietly, gripping the pommel of his sword so tight his bones popped and cracked. "What is our move? You are the oldest here, Lord Reed. I am not a lord yet, so command falls unto you."

"Criston, you are of the north. You are a Lord. Eddard Stark was there to teach you how to be a man when your father was not, may the Gods bless both of their souls." Howland grew silent for a moment, as if contemplating his words carefully. "You will lead this battle. If I sense anything wrong with the plan of battle you wish to take I will take over."

Criston looks at Howland, and then to Roren who gave a nod. "On Ned's honor, I will protect the North from its enemies. I swear it by the Old Gods." Howland smiled

"Good, so what is your plan?"

"We will do this in the cover of night, hour of the wolf would be best."

"Aye, they seem to gather in the open courtyards at around that time for general merrymaking. Naturally we have resisted on capitalizing on this for such a time as this. The water has been poisoned, but easily neutralised. I've had my fellow crannogmen pick off the ones on the battlements. I'd say it's likely they are wasting from water shortage, though we have not introduced any sort of disease for the safety of our future garrison."

"Good, we'll wait until that time. We can create a commotion to draw even more of then out. Lord Reed will choose that time to attack, blanketing the courtyard with arrows. Hopefully that goes the way we want. We were lucky enough to have just missed Victarion Greyjoy, or else this would have been a bloody battle." He paused, rubbing the growing beard on his face. "Lord Reed can have some of his men sneak inside and open the Causeway gates, then we will storm it." Roren nodded slowly, it was a simple enough plan but there was hardly 700 Ironborn awaiting inside. Lord Reed continued to stare at Criston, as if awaiting more.

Criston sighs, "Should we give them the chance to surrender?"

Roren shook his head, "There is no point to it, they wouldn't if they wanted to."

Howland spoke softly, "Aye, but it is important to ask. Nobody should send men to die without a peaceful resolution."

"I understand, Lord Reed. I will go under the white banner myself. I will take Winter and discuss terms of surrender with their commander." Roren and Howland both nodded, "It will only be Winter and I. Nobody else of high birth."

Roren wanted to speak but Howland stopped him with a gesture of his hand. "Good, go immediately. We await your return."

Thus there he was, riding atop his raven colored war horse. Winter trotted beside him at a sedate place, she seemed peaceful on the outside but she was hoping for blood. He was ashamed to admit that he was to. Even though he had earned some sort of respect from the men following him, he still felt a green boy. This would go either way and he did not mind it.

He had arrived quickly, white banner held high as six men carrying the sigil of the kraken and of a hand that had lightning bolts coming from the tips of it's fingers. He had no recollection of the sigil but he did remember seeing it on several raiding parties when the Ironborn attacked in force.

They were a mere twenty feet apart, the six men keeping their distance out of precaution. Winter did her job well, licking at her paw while sitting on her haunches.

"I am Criston of House Stilwood, I lead the host just a mile away as you have seen. I have come to carry terms of surrender in Robb Stark's name."

"I am Ralf of House Kenning, chosen as castellan of the garrison by under the Lord Captain Victarion's orders. What are your terms?" The other men look at him sharply but they understand with a sharp look.

"We had word that a group of two thousand raiders were here, where are they?"

"The fool's marched south through bog devil territory. Died slow deaths, I imagine."

"I see, as such I will offer your men safe passage to your ships. Leave the North and return to your keep. I do not expect you to keep your word to leave my home and Northern Shores in peace but you will not hold Moat Cailin. If you do not agree I will put every man under your command to the sword. You are low on supplies, you cannot leave the walls or you will be poisoned. This is a generous offer. Leave now and never return." Criston had a grave look, he was a man grown. Threatening men many times his age would probably not work but he could hope.

"You speak big for a green boy. I was given a command and to surrender to some greenlander shit like you would shame my house. My boy Harrik took his first salt-wife at before he was even a man. Commands his own ship while only being a year or two older than you. Yet you deem yourself man enough to command me?"

Criston laughed softly to himself, "Aye, now I remember that banner. Your son, black of hair and blue eyes. Aye I know him. Sword through his belly after he thought to climb our walls." He seemed to remember he was talking to the boys' father. "He passed quickly, I promise you that. After he fell it broke the spirit of the rest of the ones raiding. I allowed them to take his bones as they retreated." As he finished speaking he noticed Ralf gripping the pommel of his sword tightly.

Through gnashed teeth, "Why should I give peace to the man that killed my son? Why would you allow an invading force to take their lord's son back?"

"Honor. My father and Eddard Stark taught me the necessity of honor while they taught me how to be ruthless to my enemies. My father was slain at the Siege of Pyke. His bones were only returned due to Eddard Stark's command, not Robert Baratheon's. We fight, we war, and we die. But allowing the father's to bury the sons and the sons to bury the father, allows a begrudging respect to be formed. Make no mistake my Lord, we are enemies. You have invaded my home, I cannot let such a thing go. Yet it is within my power to allow your men to leave. I implore you to take my offer."

"You speak like a man beyond your years. I was told to hold this death trap, and I shall. Aye, many of us knew Geron Stilwood. A fierce man, some feared him. Many respected him. He was more of an Ironborn than half of this lot, yet he is dead. I see the same steel in you, boy." He looked at the others and nodded, "I cannot surrender to you. Good luck, boy."

Criston looked at him, then to Winter who seemed to even nod back. "Then let us settle this the old way. You and I, we are the only ones who have to die. I may be young, but I do not wish for my men to die for this folly. We will allow them to return peacefully."

Ralf sighed deeply, yet he understood the boy's words. "I can make terms with that, on the morrow we will duel. On the possibility of my death, my men will march out of the Causeway and will return to our ships on the Fever River."

"In the event of my death, my men will go on their way to The Twins, after the wedding they will march back. After that I cannot guarantee the King will spare your lives, though I can spare them for under a month. That is the most I can do." Criston hopped down from his horse, he was a similar height to Ralf. They clasped hands in a spoken agreement.

"I will see you on the morrow." Criston said and left to return back to his tent.

He must first fight for his men, before he expects them to fight for him. It was selfish but this was his chance to prove himself. That was a value Ned had taught him, and he would honor the memory of the man he had wished was his father.


	2. Chapter 2

Roren and Howland had protested the idea but he had to do it. He had to preserve his fighting force. He knows that they understand, but if he were to die that would go poorly for them. Howland nodded, making it known that he agreed to the necessity of it.

Roren had grew silent during that time when Howland and him were discussing it. His silence prompted Criston to begin to wonder what was on his mind.

"Roren? What do you need to say?"

"My cousin's family has been captured by them, meanwhile Robb Stark stops to watch some southron shit get married. I am not marching out of loyalty to him, but to you and your house Criston.''

"Be careful with your words." Criston hissed at him, "Don't speak like that when we get to The Twins. They could have your head." He sighs, "After I finish with this farce, take your men and some of the Mormonts and siege Deepwood Motte. 700 is all I can spare, try to get in touch with the remaining Lords and see if they will join you. I have faced Asha Greyjoy before, she is not like other Ironborn. She is smart, so they are captive for a reason. Take back your family home Roren."

"Thank you Criston. Robette, and I will not forget this. I swear to you." Criston nodded and mounted his horse. It was time for him to meet his fate, for the worst or the better.

He met Ralf, who had ten others with him as did Criston. To ensure witnesses and no wrongdoing. He dropped down from his horse and bid Winter to stay behind; but to also be ready for anything.

"You are brave boy, I will give you that." He unsheathed his sword and clanged it against his shield bearing his sigil.

"I know my duty." He drew his sword as Ralf charged at him, a scream at his lips.

Ralf was a man of pure muscle, while Criston himself was still young and lithe. He was not weak however, so when Ralf swung first to begin the battle he parried it to the side and punched the man in the jaw. He of course made sure to wear his studded gloves just for this occasion. Honorable it might not be, but he needed to win. Ralf's slight limp made him wonder though, for it was not there the day before.

He would bide his time, telling him about his son was deliberate. He now only needed for the man to give him the chance to capitalize on it. He parried four more swings before Ralf grew even more frustrated.

"Craven!" He roared, close enough for spittle to fly in Criston's face. "Has anyone ever told you that you're a terrible swordsman! Craven bastard."

 _Got him._ "Aye, your son did." Another swing parried. "Ask him for me." Ralf roared in anger, stepped back and threw his shield at Criston. It made him stumble, another swing came in towards his face and he parried it haphazardly. It raked against the edge of his blade, biting into the corner of his mouth and taking a sliver of his earlobe with it.

The next swing came and they crossed swords, Ralf trying to overpower him. Criston let him dig into the chainmail on his shoulder and within a second he drew his dagger on his waist and drove it into Ralf's eye.

Ralf reared back as if to swing again, stood straight up and fell onto the ground. Criston spit a mist of blood onto him. Spying a concealed dagger on Ralf himself, he bent over and drew it from its' sheath. The hilt was of blackened dragonbone, several wisps of white inlays wrapped around the grip leading to a small white crystal of some kind. The blade itself was an odd color of purple, and soft silver ripples decorated the blade. He softly rasped to himself. "Valyrian steel…"

The Ironborn Ralf had gathered let him claim his prize, which was their way. They stood straighter as he took the sheath off of Ralf and grasped it tightly in his hands.

"It is finished, whichever one of you want to lead, do it. Have them gather immediately, I will have my host escort all of you. Your arms will be taken and given back to you upon our arrival at your ships. Do not resist, I cannot ensure your safety otherwise." Gods he wanted to cry from the pain, it was not the deepest of wounds but damn it hurt. The men collectively nod and Roren who had been watching the entire ordeal blows a horn to signal his victory and the host comes to greet them.

The Ironborn left peacefully, some snide remarks here and there but a massive bear can easily shut anyone up. Carts full of their weapons and remaining supplies were heaped onto their ships, and Criston's own ships eyed them carefully as they left. As they left sailed beyond eyesight, Criston saw that Roren had gathered his allotted men and was ready to sail.

"Kraken banners will get you there safely. They wouldn't expect a force of your size to storm their encampments. Keep it as quiet as possible. Send a Raven to Lord Reed the moment you have retaken it." They clasped forearms, "I wish you good fortune in the battles to come."

"And I you. friend." His men loaded up, taking several ships full to the brim of angry northerners. "House Glover will not forget this, my lord. I swear it by the Gods, old and new." Criston nodded, and they drifted away.

Howland walked up to him in his tent around an hour later. A medicine bag in one hand and offered him some mulled wine. "For the pain, don't drink too much." Howland applied a salve of some kind to prevent his wound from festering. He stitching it up in a way that was just as good as any maester. "It will make a fine scar."

"A scar is not what I want, I want to be respected." A grimace as the needle pierces his skin.

Howland continues to sow his skin back together as he speaks. "You are respected, I have seen it for myself. Stop doubting yourself, just look at who our King is."

He paused, waiting for the next stitch before speaking. "Robb is a man I consider a brother, more than my own. I think it is and was foolish for Lady Catelyn to allow him this folly."

"How is it folly? The Northerners want independence, with how Ned was executed they have every right to call for it." Howland's voice was soft, but his words were tense.

Criston gnashed his teeth together, "Ned is the only father I can truly remember, he took me in out of kindness. Now he is dead, making Robb King in the North only made him a target. I know you understand that!" His anger was rising, "They are the family that I chose! Piss on Creighton! He is a craven! The girls are prisoners to that bastard Joffrey and the boys are dead! The only brothers I have left are at the Wall and the other is a King. You know better than anyone, my lord, the lengths men will go to kill a King." Having said his peace, Criston turned to silence.

"I understand your anger. You are right, being a King marks one for death. What other option was there? To bend the knee to Joffrey Baratheon? Have northmen die for Stannis? We had no other option, and justice has yet to come." At the tenth stitch, he knotted and clipped it off. "It has been done, Robb needs capable men. Capable leaders to advise him in battle and to fight for him. We are winning, Criston. Robb needs you, and he needs your men."

"He has a host of 25,000 already Howland. He can call on another 40,000 if he wanted to take away most of the North's fighting men. What will my 4,300 add to that?"

"Winter, Criston." He looked him in the eye, his bright green eyes piercing through him. " Winter and you."

He had instructed Howland's maester Cayle, who had traveled with him to send a raven to Robb Stark who awaited at The Twins. Given the one day travel time for the raven, plus the extra day for it to travel back. They seemed that they would make it to the wedding the night before. However, the day of the raven's expected return a strange sight came on the horizon.

A haggard looking group of men numbering around 200 came marching up the causeway. It seems at the sight of the Stilwood, Reed and various other sigils that they decided to raise their own. A giant crossed with two chains.

 _Odd, what are Umbers doing here? Howland gave no word of them coming._ He wondered until a mountain of a man, with a long flowing beard, an ugly greatsword and a boisterous smile roared up at the gate.

"CREIGHTON STILWOOD! YOU CRAVEN BASTARD! 'Bout time ya joined us! Where the fuck have you been!" The one and only Greatjon Umber roared, and as the gates opened, Jon was met with a strange sight.

"Lord Jon Umber, I am Criston Stilwood. Heir to Creighton Stilwood. As you know this is Lord Howland Reed." The Greatjon eyed him wearily, and with a boom laugh he clapped the young man on the shoulder. Criston stood as straight as possible during said event, though his knees almost buckled from his strength.

"Little Wood? That you? Gods boy! You have grown since I last saw you! It was what, three harvests ago!" The man laughed proudly, as if he was his own son. "Gods! You even took Moat Cailin! Look at this boys! He's not Little Wood anymore!" Criston grumbled as all the gathered men snickered. He eyed the sky as a raven dove into the Maesters chamber.

"Tell me lad, how many squids did you kill? Me and mine took down a big lot of them! Couple o' frogeaters helped us good." A mug of ale already in hand, Jon drained it in one go.

"Just one, the garrison commander." Jon looked to say more but Criston continued. "They were starving, thirsty, and low on morale. Victarion Greyjoy left them there and when their larger numbers went south for whatever reason, they seemed to lose heart in their cause. By the time they ready themselves for a raid I imagine the wasting poisons and diseases will halve their remaining number."

Jon huffed, seemingly angry at missing out on a good fight. "Aye, I can see the run o' that. The King told me not to come before the wedding but it could not wait. I told him I take the Moat and be back in time. This way, we'll make it just in time! Come Little Wood! If you make me miss that free ale, I will beat you with a leg of lamb!" Criston laughed, the Greatjon was a large man. He knew when to be serious and when to be his usual boisterous self. However, a message has to be read and a garrison has to be left behind. Without him noticing the Greatjon had moved closer to him.

"Something is up with that damn Bolton, I will be telling any of mine left behind to keep an eye out for them. No proof of anything bad yet though lad. Just being safe."

Criston was silent, brewing over Jon's words for a moment. "I will leave behind 150 archers and 350 man-at-arms. Leave fifty or a hundred of yours, and let us be on our way."

Jon grinned largely at him. "Aye, I can do that." Jon's face fell for a moment. "Ned taught you well, lad."

Criston looked up at Jon, "Aye. He did."


	3. Chapter 3

According to the Greatjon he had left Maege and Galbert behind to ride ahead in his haste. They commanded several hundred as well and they joined the march as they finally met. Maege had congratulated Criston on his victory and hugged him fiercely. Her eyes shone with sadness to see him marching to war.

They were a mere hours ride away when a lone man was a hundred paces from his host on the road. They had been delayed by some Ironborn stragglers attacking their supplies when they camped. Over 150 Ironborn fell upon them at night, all were dead but so were 38 of his own. Criston, Greatjon, Maege, and Galbert rode to greet the man, who once in view was wearing the Twins upon his breastplate.

"Someone you know, Jon?"

"Aye, His Grace's squire. Olyvar Frey, only Frey I wouldn't call a weasel."

"Hail, friend. I am Criston Stilwood. Have you come as an advanced party to greet us?" Olyvar's face was panicked, his cheeks sunken and he was quite pale. "Are you well? Has something happened?" He looked to Jon and he shrugged his soldiers.

"Everything was fine when I left, Olyvar, what has happened?" Jon's voice had never sounded so serious, and it made Criston very nervous.

"A… A w-word in private my lords!" Criston yelled for everyone to take a ten minute rest while the four of them went off to speak.

Olyvar had tears in his eyes by the time they had gathered. "Speak to it boy, what has happened?" Maege said, her impatience shining through.

"My own family imprisoned me in my chambers a day ago. I do not know what they're planning but I overheard my father and Lord Bolton speaking in hushed tones. Something about a promise from Tywin Lannister. I fled as soon as I could to meet the host that took Moat Cailin." He took a deep breath. "I can't say for sure what is going on but I fled through the great hall and saw several crossbows being snuck onto the musician's balcony. I fear that my father has took His Grace's slight against him very seriously… I worry what the feast will bring."

They all stood silently, pondering his words. Criston spoke up, his alight with a fire they have not seen. Even Maege could not place the anger. "I can imagine the Karstarks are against us in this. Their Lord executed, what am I to say? That Robb committed several blunders? Lost the Karstarks? Angered the Frey's? What else is there to add? Married a damn Westerling whore?"

Jon looked to speak up, his face turning red and his anger coming to a head.

"I have marched 5,000 swords, spears, and horses to join such folly? I will beat that man I call my brother when I see him, and do you know why?" None responded, "The lot of you have not advised him wisely! You let a southerner be his greatest advisor."

"Careful! Careful damn you! You are speaking treason! You would dare say such words about Lady Catelyn!" Jon roared at him, spittle flying onto Criston's face.

"I do dare! Catelyn Tully is not of the North! She has been in our realm for almost twenty years! She confided in me herself that she felt she did not belong!" Criston roared back, while the Greatjon wasa a head and a half taller than him, Criston was still a Mormont. He was tall, and he was strong. Bears do not bow to any man. "Jon, you have looked after your past Lord's son admirably and I respect that. You also however have condemned that man's son to death by naming him King!"

"The North had been starved for vengeance! We have strived for independence for years. The dragons are gone, nothing can hold us back now. For the love I held for your father boy, I will not beat the Gods out of you! For that you are lucky!"

"There is only one thing Tywin Lannister could promise Walder Frey, Jon." He looked at each of them pointedly. "Kill the man who slighted him, and Riverrun."

Jon looked as if he had been struck by a bull. "You don't mean.." Criston nodded.

Maege finally spoke up, "If we find Harrion Karstark we can turn the Karstarks to our side. They have 7,000 swords alone. 3,000 of which are at the Twins, who knows how many survived after Harrion went missing." Criston put a hand to his chin in thought.

"My son is there…" Jon grumbled lowly to himself. "If something happens to my boy! I swear upon the Old Gods! I will wear Tywin Lannister's balls around my damn neck!"

"We gather the lords, we gather Robb. Either way we go about this will result in a battle. We are going to arriving just in time for the feast to begin. We will have only an hour to be able to get any sort of cohesion ready for the battle. Time is not on our side. We need to go now!" Criston was already galloping back to his troops.

"Everyone! We make for the Twins! As fast as you can! Don't exhaust yourselves!" He had sent several riders to give orders and inform them of the coming battle. It had taken them two and a half hours for them to arrive at the forest, his entire host making sure to stay hidden. He was glad to not have informed more people than necessary about his troop number. He had told Robb to keep it to himself. All for safety.

Everyone was waiting in the slight darkness of the forest. It would be night time when the battle would be over, or at least he hoped. One thing he could count on was not all of the Karstarks siding with the traitors. He had an inkling, a hope; that some Bolton soldiers would stay loyal.

The Greatjon gave the crannogmen an idea of ways to sneak into the feasting Hall. It would be a calculated risk to get over a dozen crannogmen ready to eliminate any threats among the Hall's musicians. That was also considering if there were any threats to begin with.

 _What is Dacey doing?_ She was moving erratically, as if pursued by the Others themselves. She was almost sprinting by the time she caught up to the Frey man who had shrugged her off. A slap rang out, the music was drowning out everything.

He turned sharply after hearing several gasps behind him, his mother screamed towards him.

He did not hear.

Pain slammed into him and it took him off his feet, _What is happening?_ He craned his head towards Talisa and choked on the breath he was holding. He could hardly move, several crossbow quarrels sprouted from his body. Yet he crawled towards his fallen wife, who had been stabbed several times in the stomach.

He tried to speak to her, to say anything to her. To ask her if she was okay, yet she was gone. His mother screamed, her voice hoarse; the glinting dagger in her hand threatening to pierce the neck of the Frey man she was holding hostage.

 _Mother…._ She was still screaming, her back to him. _She's trying to bargain with Walder Frey… It will be our last time…_ He grabbed a solid hold onto the overturned feasting table, it took all of his strength to raise his body to it's full height.

" _Heh_ , the King in the North arises! Heh, _heh._ " Walder Frey sipped from his goblet, the wine dribbling down his chin. "That looked difficult, _Your Grace_. I apologize for my wedding gift. Mayhaps it was a bit extreme, and for that I am _truly sorry_. _Heh,_ very sorry indeed." He sipped again.

"Lord Walder! Please!" Catelyn screeched upon the top of her lungs.

"Quiet!" Walder did not have to raise his voice, for it was already deathly quiet other than the clashing outside. "A Tully, groveling in my Hall. Now this is a sight, _heh_. It truly is a shame, my lady. For our time here is at an end."

The distant sound of battle grew closer, a wolf howling filled the air. Screaming men and the clash of blades grew closer. Walder sent out several guards and Ryman Frey led his men back outside.

Robb stepped towards his mother. "Mother…." his voice rattled out, "Grey Wind…." A man in a pink cloak approached from the side very slowly. All sound ceased from outside. A loose dagger was at Robb's feet, he struggled to bend over and pick it up while all attention was on the noise outside.

A roar of a great beast shook the hall. The great doors trembled as if a tremendous weight was against it.

"The door! The door damn you!" Walder yelled at any who would listen.

Another roar, and the doors fell to the ground. The dust that rose was stifling, making visibility almost none. The dust settled mere moments later. Five tower shields stood abreast where the door once did.

Robb turned towards the commotion and Roose Bolton came to stand before him. "Jaime Lannister sends his reg-." He was cut off as a dagger was thrust into his neck. The last of Robb's strength left him and he crumpled to the ground. Catelyn continued to scream as her dirk tasted blood.

"Kill them all!" A voice roared behind the shields, and a beast replied in kind. Dozens of arrows whistled through the air, many towards the shields and several found their marks among the musicians as the shadows came alive.

Robb saw it all in the corner of his eye, _crannogmen… Criston is here… At least I killed that bastard..._ Then he closed his eyes.

\- End chapter 3


	4. Chapter 4

**House Stilwood**

 **Words - Forward Into Oblivion**

 **Sigil - Ebonywood Tree, between two bear paw prints. on a gray background.**

 **I have taken some liberties with travel time and army sizes. These may change in the future, because big battles are pretty awesome. If I do change it, the readers will be told before hand.**

 **A number of OC's litter this story, it's fine if you don't like those. Read it anyway, write a review and tell me how to improve.**

 **This story is a result of my wife and I's combined thoughts and wants to make the story a little different while having some events not truly change.**

 **Sidenote: I am aware that there is a Stilwood (Joss Stilwood) already in the story, this was after I thought of the name. So it may be a plot point later on, or it won't. Who knows.**

-  
They gathered their sworn Lords when the Young Wolf decided to play at war. Aye he would have gone to King's Landing himself to save Lord Stark, after spending 5 years as their ward he had grown to love the man.

It was not to be however, the Squids had thought to raid his and his brother's lands while the North marched South. An island surrounded by Ironborn was hard to defend, but they had been killing them for centuries. They knew their tactics well. A small group of crannogmen were loyal to House Stilwood, helping them in ways of fighting the ironborn off at every step and turn. Truly there were several ways onto the island without sinking in the murky swamplands. There were the three towns Stilwater Island which were Ebony Town, Stilwood Barrow, and Claw Point. All were constructed using the Ebonywood trees that were plentiful on the island. The three keeps on the island were Stilwater Keep, lorded by House Stilwood. Ragged Cove, lorded by Jade Mormont, sister of Jeor Mormont. Her only daughter Alara, wife to Lord Geron Stilwood and mother to Creighton and Criston Stilwood. Roren Glover, a small Cadet Branch of House Glover of Deepwood Motte. Lords over the currently unnamed Keep protecting the central hub of Ebonywood harvesting on the entire island. Both Lord and Lady sworn to House Stilwood.

1300 Ironborn decided to die upon the shores of Stilwood Hall that night, half that his brother's men. Yet their island was large, very large. They could field many men, a third of which were horsed. 4800 soldiers could turn the tide in any battle. That was the most he could take while not leaving the island unguarded. Though the few that remained could hold off a siege for years. His brother after being wounded had told him pledge our Banners to the new King in the North. His first stop was to retake Moat Cailin, to regain back the Young Wolf's honor in trusting a fucking squid.

This was to be his first time commanding such a large amount of men. He was used to giving orders among the battlements while his brother charged through the gate, but this was an army. This was a war, and his brother was to craven to go himself. He could see it in his eyes when he spoke the words.

"Criston, you are to go to the Young Wolf. Pledge yourself to him and make a name for yourself. While I am alive you will inherit nothing, so instead of fighting the squids. Go fight a real army. Prove yourself a man." The words had angered Criston, but he could only nod grimly.

It was his Lord's command, though a brother shouldn't march his only sibling to his death. Criston's grandmother, Lady Jade Mormont had slapped his brother, knocking him to the ground when Creighton told her of his plans.

He would take Moat Cailin from the small Ironborn force stationed there. Leave men to hold it and march to the Twins to join the wedding of Edmure Tully to Roslin Frey. House Stilwood had stayed out of the fighting this long, it was time for them to go to war. He had never met any sort of king before, but a Stark King. He could get used to that.

Though something deep down inside of him feared going to this wedding. He may be young, and no matter to where this war went. He would do his duty. To his family and to avenge Eddard Stark.

It had taken just 6 days to reach the Fever River just 8 miles west of Moat Cailin. Criston had taken it upon himself to use the longships from the Stilwater invasion to bolster his own fleet. Thus when he approached the dozen Ironborn longships they had let down their guard. It was a small battle. There were only enough there to barely guard each ship, and prepare it for a fast getaway if need be.

The soldiers under him respected him, they thirsted for war. They thirsted to avenge the murder of their Liege Lord. A few, including Criston himself, wanted to see how his closest companion would fare in an actual battle, not some lowly raiders.

Winter, his most trusted friend. She thought the same of him, when he slipped into her skin. She was the progeny of a snow bear and a common Mormont Island Grizzly. She was large, very much so. It had taken a ridiculous amount of time for Darrick, the Stilwood Hall blacksmith to create armor for her to wear. Studded leather covered the majority of her body and she had taken to it as a second skin. They were a pair, though many were intimidated, she would not harm a soul unless he said so.

He remembered the times before when his brother had teased him about bedding the bear, since he thought it was the only way to tame one. Creighton also claimed to have bedded their cousin Dacey, oddly enough his brother had come home with only half an ear. Dacey of course only grinned when Criston brought it up.

He had been blooded in the Ironborn invasion and the men respected that, _his_ men. They had very terse words for his brother. The few knights in their service had demanded to leave when the Young Wolf first called to arms, yet Creighton had stayed their blades until Lord Stark was already dead. It took the Ironborn taking Moat Cailin and other northern Keeps for him to finally send soldiers out.

It angered Criston but he was a second son. Perhaps that was why he looked up to Eddard Stark as he did. He wondered how Lord Stark would look upon him now, marching to war to help the man he thought of as a brother. Not the one he was given, but the one he chose.

It had taken just half a day to march to Moat Cailin, the black Ebonytree on a silver background with two snarling bear heads was his personal sigil. He would have had more of them made but his brother had forbade it. Damn that pride of his. He smiled softly to himself as he saw the black lizard lion of House Reed, they had already made the camp a mile from the fort itself. He remembered meeting Lord Howland Reed for the first time when he had visited Winterfell, he was small man, but he was a man who knew his duty. He had respect for the man, his first words to him were few but Howland Reed was a man of few words.

He had been a solemn child, known for bouts of melancholy. His time playing with Meera Reed had helped him some, yet he was as solemn as a Stark. Ser Rodrik would make sure to tell him that often enough.

He had gathered his host and dispersed them to create camps and settle for the night. He was lucky enough to only have injured men from the brief battle, but that would be the last time.

He spotted Lord Reed with several of his loyal retainers, he spied the sigils of Houses Boggs, Greengoods, Crays, and Marshes. They seemed to not be led by their Lords, not that Criston could recall their names anyway. As the only three lords Criston, Lord Roren Glover and Lord Howland Reed commanded from inside of one of the larger tent.

Lord Reed was already waiting inside, with a map of troop movements and of the surrounding area.

A smile grew on Criston's face. "I am glad to see you hale, Lord Reed."

Howland looked up and met his gaze. "Lord Stilwood, I am glad you have finally joined us." He did not say it in an angry way, yet the accusation was there.

Criston's eyes turned to steel in that moment, "I am not the Lord of my house. If it were up to me, I would have marched unto King's Landing and taken the head of that Bastard King. We were beset upon by a large force of Ironborn, yet my brother did not heed the call. I did." His voice was deeper than Howland remembered, with the steel of a northern lord. Despite the harsh words Howland smiled.

"Yes you did. Forgive me words, Criston. I had to make sure you have grown from the shy boy hiding behind my daughter's skirt. You are certainly your father's son and the pride of your mother's house." He clasped Criston at the shoulder and give him a hug.

Criston had a small smile on his face, "I should have known," Roren gave a slight cough to remind them of him still being here. "Lord Reed, this is Roren Glover. Protector of Ebonywood and smiter of krakens."

"Funny Criston, Lord Reed it is an honor." Roren held out his gloved hand and Howland took it.

"A pleasure, my lord," He paused for a moment and a grave look came upon his face.

"Shall we begin?

The next morning Lord Reed had received two ravens, one from Deepwood Motte and Winterfell. He could Criston and Roren together for a meeting before the battle begun. When they entered Lord Reed had a grim look.

"What has happened?" Criston asked, adjusted the mail shirt he was wearing and straightened himself at the tone of his words.

"Deepwood Motte has fallen to Asha Greyjoy, Robette's wife and children have been taken hostage. The maester had given his life to allow the guard time to send the raven off safely." Ignoring Roren's gasp and curses he opened the other note. His hand began to shake.

"Winterfell has fallen to Theon Greyjoy." Criston's eyes grew wide and he slammed his fist unto the table.

"Any word of the boys? Of Meera and Jojen!" He almost screamed at the man.

"Meera and Jojen are missing, Rickon and Brandon have been killed. Burned until black. It appears Maester Luwin had managed to send this off as well… Ser Rodrik beheaded. Grim news."

"Dark wings, dark words." Criston said quietly, gripping the pommel of his sword so tight his bones popped and cracked. "What is our move? You are the oldest here, Lord Reed. I am not a lord yet, so command falls unto you."

"Criston, you are of the north. You are a Lord. Eddard Stark was there to teach you how to be a man when your father was not, may the Gods bless both of their souls." Howland grew silent for a moment, as if contemplating his words carefully. "You will lead this battle. If I sense anything wrong with the plan of battle you wish to take I will take over."

Criston looks at Howland, and then to Roren who gave a nod. "On Ned's honor, I will protect the North from its enemies. I swear it by the Old Gods." Howland smiled

"Good, so what is your plan?"

"We will do this in the cover of night, hour of the wolf would be best."

"Aye, they seem to gather in the open courtyards at around that time for general merrymaking. Naturally we have resisted on capitalizing on this for such a time as this. The water has been poisoned, but easily neutralised. I've had my fellow crannogmen pick off the ones on the battlements. I'd say it's likely they are wasting from water shortage, though we have not introduced any sort of disease for the safety of our future garrison."

"Good, we'll wait until that time. We can create a commotion to draw even more of then out. Lord Reed will choose that time to attack, blanketing the courtyard with arrows. Hopefully that goes the way we want. We were lucky enough to have just missed Victarion Greyjoy, or else this would have been a bloody battle." He paused, rubbing the growing beard on his face. "Lord Reed can have some of his men sneak inside and open the Causeway gates, then we will storm it." Roren nodded slowly, it was a simple enough plan but there was hardly 700 Ironborn awaiting inside. Lord Reed continued to stare at Criston, as if awaiting more.

Criston sighs, "Should we give them the chance to surrender?"

Roren shook his head, "There is no point to it, they wouldn't if they wanted to."

Howland spoke softly, "Aye, but it is important to ask. Nobody should send men to die without a peaceful resolution."

"I understand, Lord Reed. I will go under the white banner myself. I will take Winter and discuss terms of surrender with their commander." Roren and Howland both nodded, "It will only be Winter and I. Nobody else of high birth."

Roren wanted to speak but Howland stopped him with a gesture of his hand. "Good, go immediately. We await your return."

Thus there he was, riding atop his raven colored war horse. Winter trotted beside him at a sedate place, she seemed peaceful on the outside but she was hoping for blood. He was ashamed to admit that he was to. Even though he had earned some sort of respect from the men following him, he still felt a green boy. This would go either way and he did not mind it.

He had arrived quickly, white banner held high as six men carrying the sigil of the kraken and of a hand that had lightning bolts coming from the tips of it's fingers. He had no recollection of the sigil but he did remember seeing it on several raiding parties when the Ironborn attacked in force.

They were a mere twenty feet apart, the six men keeping their distance out of precaution. Winter did her job well, licking at her paw while sitting on her haunches.

"I am Criston of House Stilwood, I lead the host just a mile away as you have seen. I have come to carry terms of surrender in Robb Stark's name."

"I am Ralf of House Kenning, chosen as castellan of the garrison by under the Lord Captain Victarion's orders. What are your terms?" The other men look at him sharply but they understand with a sharp look.

"We had word that a group of two thousand raiders were here, where are they?"

"The fool's marched south through bog devil territory. Died slow deaths, I imagine."

"I see, as such I will offer your men safe passage to your ships. Leave the North and return to your keep. I do not expect you to keep your word to leave my home and Northern Shores in peace but you will not hold Moat Cailin. If you do not agree I will put every man under your command to the sword. You are low on supplies, you cannot leave the walls or you will be poisoned. This is a generous offer. Leave now and never return." Criston had a grave look, he was a man grown. Threatening men many times his age would probably not work but he could hope.

"You speak big for a green boy. I was given a command and to surrender to some greenlander shit like you would shame my house. My boy Harrik took his first salt-wife at before he was even a man. Commands his own ship while only being a year or two older than you. Yet you deem yourself man enough to command me?"

Criston laughed softly to himself, "Aye, now I remember that banner. Your son, black of hair and blue eyes. Aye I know him. Sword through his belly after he thought to climb our walls." He seemed to remember he was talking to the boys' father. "He passed quickly, I promise you that. After he fell it broke the spirit of the rest of the ones raiding. I allowed them to take his bones as they retreated." As he finished speaking he noticed Ralf gripping the pommel of his sword tightly.

Through gnashed teeth, "Why should I give peace to the man that killed my son? Why would you allow an invading force to take their lord's son back?"

"Honor. My father and Eddard Stark taught me the necessity of honor while they taught me how to be ruthless to my enemies. My father was slain at the Siege of Pyke. His bones were only returned due to Eddard Stark's command, not Robert Baratheon's. We fight, we war, and we die. But allowing the father's to bury the sons and the sons to bury the father, allows a begrudging respect to be formed. Make no mistake my Lord, we are enemies. You have invaded my home, I cannot let such a thing go. Yet it is within my power to allow your men to leave. I implore you to take my offer."

"You speak like a man beyond your years. I was told to hold this death trap, and I shall. Aye, many of us knew Geron Stilwood. A fierce man, some feared him. Many respected him. He was more of an Ironborn than half of this lot, yet he is dead. I see the same steel in you, boy." He looked at the others and nodded, "I cannot surrender to you. Good luck, boy."

Criston looked at him, then to Winter who seemed to even nod back. "Then let us settle this the old way. You and I, we are the only ones who have to die. I may be young, but I do not wish for my men to die for this folly. We will allow them to return peacefully."

Ralf sighed deeply, yet he understood the boy's words. "I can make terms with that, on the morrow we will duel. On the possibility of my death, my men will march out of the Causeway and will return to our ships on the Fever River."

"In the event of my death, my men will go on their way to The Twins, after the wedding they will march back. After that I cannot guarantee the King will spare your lives, though I can spare them for under a month. That is the most I can do." Criston hopped down from his horse, he was a similar height to Ralf. They clasped hands in a spoken agreement.

"I will see you on the morrow." Criston said and left to return back to his tent.

He must first fight for his men, before he expects them to fight for him. It was selfish but this was his chance to prove himself. That was a value Ned had taught him, and he would honor the memory of the man he had wished was his father.


End file.
